The Blood of Caesar
by ShadowUmbra
Summary: Or, the the rules and expectations you have to follow and live up to if you want to survive as Caesar's daughters. Yep, I'm Caesar's one and only daughter, its not as bad as it sounds. Its worse. ((Summary was spur of the moment, original lost and will be replaced))
1. Chapter 1

_**This idea came from copious hours playing New Vegas, my love for a certain fox and many other things.**_

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><p><em>Rule 1: No fraternizing with the men<em>

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><p>Downsides to being Caesar's daughter? Well, you can't like the opposite sex (hell, you can't like the same sex) let alone look at them. Around the Hill, I am watched like a hawk by more than one source so if my eyes linger too long on one of the younger (or older) legionairres, my father puts the metephorical hammer down on me and sends me on a tour of our camps over the river.<p>

I hate doing tours.

I am not allowed to look, talk or date a man until my father assigns me a mate. Oh joy, I don't get to find a man I love but he got to marry the woman he loved. And here I am, under his strict rule. I wonder if he was always like this, such an ass, even with mom.

Just as I think that, my eyes linger on the firm buttocks of a new recruit wrapped in a pleated red and black skirt (dad calls them kilts), and I see Vulpes narrow his eyes from across the long bar we use for dinners.

Oh great, now I'm gonna be in trouble. I grumble and cross my arms, leaning forward onto the bar and grabbing my bottle of water with a death grip. Two recruits getting food quickly look away, making me raise my right eyebrow. Used to having recruits stare at me but jeez, never cower. I look down the table, make direct eye contact with a decanus. He nods once and I sigh, looking back down into my water bottle.

I don't like being the daughter of Caesar. And the Fox approaching me just makes it worse because he's a fucking tattle tell.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Josueb: that...isn't too bad. Your suggestion is noted._**

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><p><em>Rule 2: You are a soldier<em>

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><p>I am special, I am a soldier.<p>

My armor is special, it was my mothers. Father says it was designed like Chinese Stealth armor (I have seen prototypes and the only difference are the shoulder guards) but the shoulder guards are like those of the White Legs from the Great Salt Lake; the legs end at my knees.

My father gives me special tasks, I am an infiltrator. I am a killer. I do what I am told without question and that makes me an excellent soldier.

I am showed no favor, I am a soldier.

"You have done well," Father says slowly, running a hand over the head I have dropped in front of him. "I may have a special assignment for you."

I hear the slight malice in his tone and my back instinctively straightens. "You are displeased."

He looks up at me from under his brow and then I see his eyes move to the right. I hesitate and then look over, seeing Vulpes and Lanius leaning over the table spread with a large map of the Mojave. They are talking about Hoover Dam, I know it. The biggest goal, the goal I have been helping fight for. I stare too long and Lanius looks up, prompting Vulpes to look back at me, uncaring eyes bright, power hungry.

I blink and they look away, Lanius pointing where I believe Mt. Charleston is. I tense as I feel Father press into my left side, his lips close and swift as he hides the fact he is whispering to me, feigning the act of retiring to his bed.

"Trust neither of them..."


	3. Chapter 3

_Rule 3: Hold thy tongue_

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><p>Never question orders, no matter how ridiculous.<p>

Like following Vulpes Inculta into New Vegas.

"May I ask why, father," my voice is so stiff, even Vulpes looks apprehensive.

Father lifts his head from rubbing his temples, looks at me curiously. Vulpes and I stand at the foot of his king bed, Siri at his side. He shrugs her away, the sound of selerating velcro making my teeth itch as she rolls up the blood pressure taker. She looks between all of us, her eyes landing on me last. I snarl at her and she scurries away, closing the tent flap behind me. Vulpes looks at me, I can feel that much, but I am focused on my father.

"The Courier," he mutters. "The one that Vulpes encountered in Nipton, he has come a long way. I want him to come to me," father reaches into the fur on his chest, the pouch beneath, and pulls a familiar medalion out. "My mark, give it to him, tell him where to go. I expect you both back within the week. Any longer," his eyes rest on Vulpes. "and I will express to you my displeasure personally."

I want to scream, I want to shout. But I can't because you do not question orders. I am dismissed. I turn on my heel and stomp out of the large tent structure, seeing soldiers straighten as I storm past. Fear, it is a part of the perks and I can't even relish the attention.

My quarters are not far, I miss my home in the Great Salt Lake. A broad tent with fine furnishings but it is just that, a tent.

And I'm not alone.

On the preverbial threshold, I am thrust roughly into the tent, my hand flies to the katana on my hip. Balanced handle, authentic blade. The Gun Runners take pride in such weapons and as a practice thief, I crave their prizes. This wasn't even my greatest treasure from them.

The blade tip presses into the throat of Vuples, whose sharp, narrow, eyes show no sway in judgement. I raise an eyebrow but it is a ful five minutes before I sheath my blade.

"What do you want, Vulpes," I grind out, unmoving.

He raises his chin a little higher. "I have a...proposition for you."

The way he curves towards me, I hesitate. He is but a hairs breath away when I regain stoney composure.

"I'm listening..."


	4. Chapter 4

_Rule 4: Do not discuss personal effects with a target_

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><p>Even if he is this good looking.<p>

We've been talking for twenty minutes and he's not even tongue tied; Vulpes is at the other end of the bar, his smirk visible from where I'm sitting. I want to pout, I have my mothers honeyed words (or so my father says) and I usually manage to get what I want by now. But this Courier 6 is no noob himself.

How fun.

"So, Courier 6," I purr, digging my long fingers into my hair, propping my elbow up on the bar.

He chuckles, picks up a dusty glass filled with whiskey. "Call me Richie, darling," he winks.

And something clicks inside of me. I grin, lean in closer. "Ok, Richie," his smile is modest now. "What's your take on this silly war?"

He shakes his head, sets down his glass and folds his arms on the countertop. "Come on, you know the rules," I raise an eyebrow. "No mixing polotics and alcohol."

I smirk, leaning towards him, the way my elbow curls making my breasts flush towards him but he only glances at them for a second. Black Widow shoots, she does not score hard.

"Not even if a lucrative business offer is on the table because of aforementioned war?"

He raises his eyebrows, juts out his bottom lip. "What kind of offer? I've been getting all kinds today, I would love to hear yours."

I smile and straighten my back, grabbing a torn clutch I brought in from the counter. My heels click on the floor, swanky music making my bones rattle. Gomorrah is a cesspool of disease and sex. It disgusts me and intrigues me.

"Shall we go somewhere more private?"

He smirks and nods, grabs his whiskey and tips the bartender. I curl a finger at him and see Vulpes' outline rise from the corner of my eye while Courier 6 follows me. He wears a familiar suit that stretches as he swaggers to the elevator. Benny, his suit. Must have killed him. He was a real cutie.

A two floor room with three guards outside. I close the doors behind me and then watch him sit in a velvet love seat, pace in front of him. I smile sweetly and Vulpes' hands come down on his shoulders.

His expression says he didn't expect that.

"Now, Courier 6," I open my clutch, pull out my fathers Mark. "You have caught the eye of the mighty Caesar. You are very fortuanate to receive the gift of His Mark."

He swallows while I hand the medalion to him; he turns it over thoughtfully, Vulpes looks at me from under the brim of his bowler hat.

He, meaning Courier 6, looked up at me. "I thought women were slaves and breeding stock, not messengers."

I narrow my eyes and Vulpes chuckles. "He has you beat, kitten."

"I will cut you," i snapped at Vulpes then looked down at Ri - 6. "Come to Cottonwood Cove, near Searchlight. You will be escorted to the Fort by boat. You try anything stupid, you have an army against you."

He nodded once, pocketed the medallion. "Will you be there?"

I smiled, cocked my head. "Sweety, didn't I say don't try anything stupid?"

He let out a bark of laughter and I rolled my eyes, looping my arm through Vulpes' as he led us out of the suite; the three guards were piled in the corner by the door, still alive but unconcious. I pressed the Main Floor button and stepped into the elevator, Vulpes beside me. He was so warm...

"I think he was quite nice," Vulpes shrugged.

"Shut up," I snapped.

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><p><strong><em>Sorry for spelling mistakes and the long wait.<em>**


	5. Chapter 5

_Rule 5: No secrets...unless kept from daddy_

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><p>I slip up and watch a young couple pass, as we lounge at a secluded table in the Tops casino courtyard. <em>Somethings Gotta Give <em>is playing and I'm already on edge, the irony between us is painful. I suppose its the way I tilt my head - or maybe its the involuntary, airy sigh I give - that gives me away, the yearning for storybook romance.

"You can never have that."

I glare at him then hesitate, his..._proposition _in my head. I swallow and scratch the back of my right hand. My skin is crawling, itches. Maybe its the perfume in the air. The music thrumming around us. The handsome Courier still plaguing my mind hours after seeing him. No, no I am not attracted to Courier 6. Richie.

"You think I don't know that," I spit.

He takes a sip of his Nuka and scotch, humming with undeserved self-satisfaction. Dad would shit bricks if he saw that, or the way Vulpes grins at me - all teeth. I wonder if he knew just how loyal the Fox was...how loyal _I _was.

"Pairings are to be noted and filed by the end of next month..."

_And..._

" I don' know if I can be paired with one of the fertile men my age," my throat constricts, chest aches. A panic attack? "I just...they're like my brothers. I _trained _most of them."

"And yet, I see you oggling them most of the time."

I shake my head. "Don't mak -"

"You can choose, you know?"_My little wallflower..._

"God dammit."

"So," he leans closer to me, knocking his bowler hat off the small table. "What do you say?"

I stare at him, arms crossed on the table. I thrum my fingers before rubbing my throat, staring into icy blue eyes. Did he know he put me on the spot? He made my hands clammy, my pulse race...

"I'm pregnant..."


End file.
